This was more like it, aware and not and-- hey, they wouldn't be the ones to kill each other, and that was enough. More than enough, Hawkeye figured, and a chuckle slips from him even after Kili's grown serious all over again and after he has brought back the bow, though it bordered on a yelp, just a sounded exhale. He rocks back once on his heels and adjusts the robe of his again, and feels a surge of guilt but soldiers through. "No, no," he chirps, glancing at the weapon. Well, the one brandished because Kili himself was a walking, living little tank.
"Not around me. I can't even stomach the thought." He says, and the only thing he'd like to stomach was lighter fluid calling itself gin. He thinks back to the man he'd saw in the cornucopia, the fire starting kit and disconcerting lack of aggression. He shakes his head but stops after the first movement, thinking the room was growing dim and that he should try to keep his brains from spilling out his ears. Again, Hawkeye's resolved, knowing just what he means with every word. His game isn't to last to the end. He can't ask a man- dwarf, as the case may be, and Jesus Christ, this dwarf was a prince- to not defend themselves. He knew. The colonel had chewed him out on it before, time and again, hadn't he? Regular Army didn't mean mindlessness, a loaded gun didn't mean-- oh, but Christ, it did. "I can't stomach anything right now, actually, but thanks for sending the taxi."
He should maybe focus on making sense to a person who lived outside of his own head.
A bow and its arrows and the assortment of knives meant that someone would be cut by them, shot by them. Forgive the civilian doctor for-- "We gotta go our own ways." He had teased and danced and flirted but he can't stay the night, bub. The boyfriend was waiting back in the motel. Hawkeye felt rotten, but the clock kept ticking. "I'm needed in the starting gates, and you're going to do just fine, big guy. You have a good head on your shoulders, and you don't look like you need me to tell you that staying out of trouble is a better idea than going looking for it." Fire drew fire and why was he the only man who understood this?
no subject
"Not around me. I can't even stomach the thought." He says, and the only thing he'd like to stomach was lighter fluid calling itself gin. He thinks back to the man he'd saw in the cornucopia, the fire starting kit and disconcerting lack of aggression. He shakes his head but stops after the first movement, thinking the room was growing dim and that he should try to keep his brains from spilling out his ears. Again, Hawkeye's resolved, knowing just what he means with every word. His game isn't to last to the end. He can't ask a man- dwarf, as the case may be, and Jesus Christ, this dwarf was a prince- to not defend themselves. He knew. The colonel had chewed him out on it before, time and again, hadn't he? Regular Army didn't mean mindlessness, a loaded gun didn't mean-- oh, but Christ, it did. "I can't stomach anything right now, actually, but thanks for sending the taxi."
He should maybe focus on making sense to a person who lived outside of his own head.
A bow and its arrows and the assortment of knives meant that someone would be cut by them, shot by them. Forgive the civilian doctor for-- "We gotta go our own ways." He had teased and danced and flirted but he can't stay the night, bub. The boyfriend was waiting back in the motel. Hawkeye felt rotten, but the clock kept ticking. "I'm needed in the starting gates, and you're going to do just fine, big guy. You have a good head on your shoulders, and you don't look like you need me to tell you that staying out of trouble is a better idea than going looking for it." Fire drew fire and why was he the only man who understood this?